


The Elder Scrolls: Escape

by x1The9x9Swordsman0x



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aldmeri Dominion, Escaped slave, F/M, Fantasy, Freedom, Gen, Heist, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Revenge, Skyrim - Freeform, Slavery, Summerset Isles, Thieves Guild, Valenwood, nightingales - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x1The9x9Swordsman0x/pseuds/x1The9x9Swordsman0x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place fifty years after the events of Skyrim, Do'amha, an illegal slave, manages to escape the clutches of his master with his friend Vajrasha.  Only trouble is that he doesn't know who he is.  The only thing that he can remember is when he first awoke in the slave pits five years ago.  He and Vajrasha are running through the lands of the Aldmeri Dominion in a desperate attempt to make it to Skyrim, where the Aldmeri Dominion has no power.  But can he evade the Dominion's soldiers and keep his friend safe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am still working on this story and posting what I have at the moment. Trying to see how much interest there is in this idea. There will be more to this chapter. Please leave comments to help me make this great.

He could taste the blood that was slowly running down the back of his throat, the stench of it filled his nostrils. Do'amha wiped the trickle of blood his nose on the already blood-soaked wraps on his hands. Dingy cloth and orange fur tinted red from the blood of the Argonian beneath him.

He had long since forgotten the shock of how easy it is to kill with his bare hands. Now it was more like instinct now. The body of the scaled person person lay at his feet. The lifeless eyes staring up into some unseen afterlife that was now his freedom. A freedom that Do'amha never believed that he would find. How could there be an afterlife when they were already in Oblivion.

Do'amha didn't stay for the announcer's flowery words, putting a playful twist to the brutality of what took place. He had no patience for long winded speeches. He had killed another person. That was plain truth of it. The spectators had all witnessed it and had been cheering him on. He remembered the naivety of his first matches as he entered the fighter pits. Five years ago he never would have thought of taking the life of another, but as a slave he had no choice in the matter. Either he did as he was told, or he was whipped and starved as punishment. It took two years for them to reign in his rebellious nature.

Sitting down in his fighter cell he took a deep breath to calm the adrenaline shakes that were coursing through his veins. Down in the pits it was nothing like the arena. Just the looks of the other slaves we so very different. When in the arena, they were filled with anger and hatred for someone that they had never met before. In the pits everyone just looked...tired. No one talked. What was the point? You were just going to have to kill one of them anyways.

There was only one person that Do'amha called friend. “Do'amha took a serious beating out there, yes,” a young Khajiit said kneeling down beside him. She began to rub her black furred hands together until they were wrapped in a bright gold glow, much like her eyes, and placed them on Do'amha's face. He could feel the healing energy seeping through his orange and black striped fur to the wounds beneath. “You like being hit repeatedly?”

Do'amha chuckled as her hands pulled away from his newly healed features. “Perhaps it is the pain that I like more. Knowing that I am still alive and not lost in Oblivion,” he responded.

“Well brother,” she chided, “if you enjoy it so much, perhaps I will not heal you the next time that an Argonian breaks your nose, yes?”

“That would not be wise,” a voice said, cutting through the silence like a knife. The small group of slaves quickly parted, revealing a golden skinned man with sharp, pointed ears. Dressed in elegant clothing and his green eyes looking over Do'amha and Vajrasha with an appraising glare. “I need my best slave ready for battle at every moment, is that clear?”

“Of..of course, Master Omeloren,” Vajrasha answered with a bow of her head.

“And you,” the man said turning his gaze to Do'amha. “That Argonian should not have been that difficult to defeat. I wonder if you are holding back once again.”

“The Argonian was much stronger than he appeared, Master Omeloren,” Do'amha growled back. “And his wraps were hiding iron plates in them.”

“Iron plates you say. I will have to have a chat with his former owner. Get rested. You have another fight tomorrow.”

“I know I do. You have me fight every night,” Do'amha said with a shake of his head.

“Are you talking back to me, slave?”

For a long moment Do'amha just stared at the elf that had been his master for the last five years. Master Erendur Omeloren. A plantation owner and financial supporter of the Aldmeri Dominion. As much as Do'amha would love to leap onto the elf and begin beating him to death with his bare hands, he couldn't. He might get two or three shots in before the guards stopped him and he found his head severed from his neck. “No...Master Omeloren. Just stating what has been my life for the last few years,” he replied through clenched fangs.

“Good. I would hate to cancel the event because you were locked in The Box.”

Vajrasha flinched with Do'amha at the mention of The Box. Erendur turned on his heel and strode out of the pits with a superior air. “Gods I wish I could rip his throat out,” Do'amha growled.

Another blood sport spectacle was called out in the ring. A cheer went out on the other side of the wall as another two slave competitors began killing each other. “I'm sure that you aren't the first to think that, Do'amha,” Vajrasha said quietly.

“The Divines have a plan for us,” an Argonian with frills said tightly clutching an amulet of Stendarr.

“Damn the Divines,” Do'amha growled back. “If they truly had plans for us do you think they would leave us in the hands of these knife-ears? Ones that treat us like animals and get enjoyment from out of our pain? Where is your Divine of justice to punish those that have done this to us?”

The Argonian turned to him with an uncertain gaze. His faith having already been shaken with the horror that he witnessed in this place. Looking to his pendant one last time, he tore it from his neck and threw it into a small grate where the waste from the cages drained off into.

As the Argonian sulked away Vajrasha gave Do'amha a stern look. “I know that you have no belief in the Divines but that doesn't mean that you have to take away the hope of others.”

“Hope will only get you killed here,” he responded as he heard the crowd filing out of the underground stadium. The final fight of the night had been concluded and the victor had returned clutching his broken hand.

The door at the far side of the room opened and two high elves made their way down the line of cages, passing out food to the fighters. When they reached Do'amha's cage, they reached into the cart and pulled out a tray of fresh food. It wasn't like the nearly rotten food scraps that the other fighters were given. That was the treatment that you got for being the favorite fighter.

Vajrasha received a piece of stale bread as her supper for the evening and she sighed, having gotten the last of the food available. “They always leave me for last,” she said sitting on the floor in front of Do'amha.

“You hardly starve, sister,” Do'amha chuckled as he portioned half of his food for her to have. She was locked into his cage, a gift from Omeloren. He would periodically send him females. Rewards for having fought well. Vajrasha was the only one that he didn't send away. But he would not bed her. They had an arrangement. She would heal him after the matches and he would keep her safe.

“I am going to sleep early,” he said as he stretched out onto the stones. He always let her have the bed of straw. It never felt right to make her sleep on the hard stone. An arm over his eyes to block out the dim like of the torches, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep. After all, what was there to dream about when his only memories were those behind the iron bars?


	2. The Last Straw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do'amha meets and unexpected stranger in the pits. Left with questions he is then pitted against a lumbering giant that he only barely manages to get away from. When it is all over, his master does something so unforgiveable to Vajrasha that he contemplates the most unthinkable thing for a slave...
> 
> ....escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is blood, gore, violence, and mentions of rape in this chapter. You have been warned

Do'amha was awoken sometime in the night. It wasn't to anything in particular, just the soft sound of metal being scraped together. He rolled his head to the side and saw a figure working the lock on his cage. The figure was shrouded in black, but with his night vision he could see them as clear as day. Leather armor was fitted to their lithe body and holding a few daggers in easy to get places. Their face was hidden by a hood that darkened their features further than Do'amha's eyes could see. He was about to speak when the faint sound of voice drifted from the slightly ajar door at the end of the pits.

The voices sounded urgent, like they were looking for someone. Do'amha could only guess that the person currently trying to pick his lock was the person that the guards were looking for. He quickly stood up as he moved to the door.

"You will not pick this lock in time," he said, making the figure jump. "The master has the best locks money can buy on these cages. There is an empty cage three down. Bury yourself in the straw."

The figure didn't have a chance to answer back. The guards came through the door carrying torches and quickly searching along the cages.

"You there! Slave!" one of the guards called out to Do'amha, who was now rather non-chalantly leaning against the cage door. "Have you seen anyone come down here?!"

"Only people that have been down here at this hour are you two knife-ears," he responded.

"Watch your tone, slave! Or maybe we should have you thrown in the box."

"Go ahead." Turning to face them he hung on the bars of his cage and called their bluff. "Go ahead and tell Master Omeleron that you have put his best fighter in the box the night before one of his most profitable fights. See how he reacts to that." He grinned as he saw the guards were taken aback by his counter. "I have heard the whisperings. He is supposed to be getting twenty times my weight in gold, should I win. Do you want to be the ones to tell him that he is going to lose that much of a payment?"

The guard glared at Do'amha, who just glared right back. "And if you're lying to us?"

"What reason do I have to lie? If someone is down here and I saw them, I would likely get a reward for telling you. If I lie and say I did not see someone when I did, then I will be punished. So you figure out the truth of it, though I am sure that Master Omeleron will not appreciate you keeping his best fighter up this late at night." The pair of guards gave a look to one another before leaving with a curse under their breath.

The pits were plunged into darkness once again as the door closed with the guards on the other side.

"You are good," Do'amha said down the aisle of cages. The rustle of straw and leather met his triangular ears before the figure snuck out of the cage and down to his door.

"Thanks," said a feminine voice. "I didn't expect to have to deal with so many guards around."

"Next time you plan on stealing from a place, you should make sure that it is not on the eve of their biggest draw of income."

"I'll make note of that in future." The woman paused a moment looking Do'amha over quickly. "Why did you help me?"

"I have seen what they do to thieves...while the males are killed, the females suffer a much worse...fate at the hands of the guards. I would suggest you leave quickly and do not return."

"It seems that my opening has come and gone. Know any ways out that won't be watched?"

"I would guess that the arena is not watched. I have seen several windows when I was out there. I have also seen moonlight at night so they don't cover them."

The hood gave small nod to show that she understood. "I will not forget your help. I only wish that I could repay it."

"Do not get caught, or they will make me regret having helped you."

A gentle laugh came from the shadow of the hood. It was melodious, like ringing crystal. In the harshness of the slave pits, something so gentle could have easily been lost. "Shadows preserve you," she said before sneaking her way to the entry to the arena.

Just before she disappeared out of sight, Do'amha caught the slight turn of her head to the cage and the glimpse of an amethyst eye. Then she was gone.

Do'amha returned to his place with a sigh. _Why did I help her?_ he chastised himself. _If they catch her it will come back onto me a hundred fold._

"No point worrying about it now," he muttered to himself before returning to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the first time in many moons, Do'amha had a dream. He could hear a voice - his voice - coming to terms on some deal. Though he dreamt, he couldn't see anything. There were only the voices. Whispering voices of things long forgotten. Voices of laughter and of sorrow. The dark haze seemed to be lifting. He could almost see something within the murky blackness.

Then there was pain. A searing, skull-splitting pain.

Do'amha jumped awake, his hands holding his head as he cried out in pain. Screaming until there was no air left in his lungs, forcing him to gulp down another lungful before screaming once more. The pain filled everything. His head. His fingers. His toes. Drowning out all other senses, even those of Vajrasha trying to calm him and asking what was wrong.

As quickly as the pain began, it was gone. The memory that came with it lost with the dream and the remnants of sleep. Do'amha fell back to the stones, still holding his head. _What in Oblivion was that?_ he thought to himself. The ringing in his ears slowly dissipated until he realized that Vajrasha was yelling in concern at him. He could taste blood.It seemed that he had bitten his tongue during his pain-filled fit.

"I am alright, sister," he growled. "Quit your shrieking." He rolled to his side and spat out the blood that was slowly filling his mouth.

“Vajrasha has never seen Do’amha act like that before,” she replied in a quivering voice. “This one thought that you might be being punished in some terribly new way.”

“No. I’m not sure what it was, but it wasn’t magik.” Rinsing his mouth out, he spat out the tinted water and rinsed away the blood on the stones. “Watch how you are speaking, sister. You will be punished if one of the knife-ears hears you speaking in that fashion.”

Vajrasha looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t noticed that she began to speak in third person, as she had been raised. “Thank you, Do’amha. I am once again in your debt.”

The pair of them jumped when the sharp ring of the bars being struck echoed through the pits.Three Elven guards now stood at the cage door, waiting rather impatiently despite having only just arrived.

“Slave! You’re being called on,” the guard in front said.

Do’amha knew better than to ask who was calling for him. The last time he had asked he was answered with a backhand from a steel gauntlet. Giving a nod, he stood up and stepped to the door. When the gate was opened, iron shackles were immediately placed on his wrists and ankles. The closed locks pinching the fur that they trapped and giving a pull with every step he took.

The shuffle of his feet was accented by the clatter of chains that were dragging on the ground. He was immediately taken to the baths. Large pools heated by magic stones that would burn hot. The Elves loved imbuing all sorts of things with magik from Do’amha’s experience. Cooking inside of the steaming water were lavender petals, to make everything that was cleaned in them to have a nice fragrance.

 _If I am being bathed, then I must be going into public_ , Do’amha thought. _They only care about my hygiene if they are showing me off._ Stripped down to his fur save for the irons, he was shoved into the water. Servants began cleaning him with long handled brushes so that they wouldn’t have to get close to him. They scrubbed him down roughly to remove the matting from his fur before they hauled him out and made him stands beside an oven to dry off.

Next came the grooming. His hands positioned to cover his loins, the servants began to roughly brush him down, removing the tangles and giving him a presentable demeanour. Not an inch of him was missed, from the long hair on the top of his head to the end of his striped tail, he was brushed.

When they brought him fresh clothes he was rather shocked. _Must be someone important. They never give us clothes,_ he thought as they began to dress him, removing the irons only long enough for him to get his arms and legs through.

Cleaned, dressed, and now smelling of lavender, he was carted off down the halls once again. Shuffling from the short length of chain between his ankles, he did his best to keep up with the insistent pace that the guards had set. Turning sharply he was led into a large room. A plush rug covered most of the floor and was soft to Do’amha’s bare feet. A massive four post bed, decorated with sheer lengths of grey cloth, dominated the room. The light of mid-morning came cascading in through the two large windows across from the door.

Now everything made sense. The sudden call. The cleaning. The new clothes. Someone had bought his services for their pleasure. He sighed as he was roughly shoved to the bed and the irons around his wrists were exchanged for two long lengths of chain that were anchored to the wall. His ankles freed, the guards left him alone in the room. The length of the chain gave him near free reign of the room, but he didn’t have any time to explore. He could already hear the sounds of the only other door in the room being opened and the customer on the other side coming in.

The woman that walked into the room wore an elegant dress like a smoky mist. The breast hand stitched with pain staking detail of ivy and nightshade. A veil clouded the woman’s face, obscuring any features that he might have gleaned. She closed the door behind her.

 _Gods forbid that she let anyone hear her with a Khajiit slave,_ he thought to himself. But none the less he gave a bow and addressed her in the most formal of tones. “I consider it a great honor for you to have called on me,” he said in an almost mechanical voice.

“Do you?” the noble woman inquired. She clasped her hands behind her back as she began to circle him, casting a scrutinizing gaze over him as she did so.

Do’amha glanced to her hands as she passed out of his sight. Ashen skin and neatly trimmed nails deftly clasped behind her back. _A Dunmer?_ he thought with surprise. Even with a glance he could see that there was something not right with them. But she had made her payment to his master, and he was bound to honor the arrangement that he was forced into.

“You do not speak like the others of your kind. Why is that?”

Do’amha grit his teeth at the remark. “I was told that it was not civilized to speak in such a manner. So after much…education, I speak like a real person.”

“Do you know why you have been brought here?”

“Such things are usually because my master has been paid for my company.”

“Do you think that is right?”

“I am honored to serve such a fine woman as yourself.”

“I can tell that that lacked sincerity. You likely despise Elves for what they have done to you. What is it that you really think?” she suddenly asked, reappearing on his opposite side.

“I think that you are not truly a member of the upper class.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Those of the upper class do not have callouses from lack of doing their own work.”

The woman paused directly in front of him. Even through the veil he could see the twitch of her lips. She was smiling. Her hands moved up to her veil and began to unlace it.

“You have a keen eye, Khajiit,” she responded.

When the veil was removed, he got the first glimpse of the woman. Smooth features and high cheek bones, like those all elves have, all the color of ash. A thin nose flanked on either side with bright amethyst eyes.

 _Amethyst eyes?_ He thought. His eyes widened in shock as he recognized those eyes. “It is y…”

He was immediately silenced with a quick movement of her hand over his mouth. She brought her other hand up and held a single finger to her thin lips, which were currently pulled up into a coy smirk.

Do’amha let a growl that rumbled in his throat, but nodded in understanding. He grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his mouth to speak in a more hushed tone.

“What are you doing here? Was last night some sort of test?”

“No. Last night was not a test. It is by Nocturnal’s grace that I happened upon you and you awoke at just that moment.”

 _Nocturnal? That is a new one,_ Do’amha thought to himself.

“My name is Karliah. What is yours?”

“I am called slave.”

“And what do the other slaves call you?”

“Do’amha.” These questions were beginning to get on his nerves. _Why does she want to know so much? What is her game?_ His instincts were telling him not to trust this Dunmer, but her eyes seemed to call him to trust her anyways. “What do you want?”

“I want to repay your helping me last night.”

“You want to repay me by buying me for your personal pleasure?”

“What if I told you that I have a means of getting you out of here?”

“I would say that this is either a trap or you are insane. Master Omeloren would never allow me to be free. He would hunt me down like a dog and kill me, or worse put me in The Box until the day I beg for death.”

“And if there were a place that you could go that he could never reach you?”

Do’amha hesitated for a moment. If there were such a place, a chance to finally be free of this hell, shouldn’t he take it? _But what would happen to Vajrasha? No. I cannot. I cannot reveal Vajrasha as a weakness.  I cannot believe her._

“Such a place does not exist,” Do’amha said with a sigh, “I couldn’t. The power of the Dominion stretches everywhere. There is no place that he cannot reach. No place that a slave like me can ever make a start.”

“Slavery is illegal in the Empire, of which the Dominion is a part of,” she said. “But if you can get to Skyrim, the land of the Nords, the Dominion will not be able to follow you. They have pushed the Dominion’s influence from their lands and refuse to give them any ground.”

Do’amha didn’t want to give in. Karliah was holding hope in front of him like a tantalizing meal, but he couldn’t take it. If he allowed himself to hope, then he would be broken when it was revealed to be nothing more than a thin pane of glass, easily shattered.

“I cannot. Master Omeloren has a great deal of influence. I would never make it outside of High Elf lands.”

Karliah’s eyes softened. It was clear that Do’amha had been put through a great deal of pain to make him believe that leaving this place would be anything but painful for him.

“I understand. Shadows preserve you,” she said as she rustled her dark hair and undid a few stays on her dress. She moved forward and carefully ruffled some of his fur and undid a few ties to make it look like he had been used for the purpose that she had paid for. Karliah left with a final amethyst glance over her shoulder, much like she had done the night before. Do’amha sighed as he turned and pulled the silk sheets from the bed, making them look tousled as if they had been used.

Placed in irons once again, he was led down the halls to the fighter pits again. The entire time, though he tried his best to ignore it, he kept thinking about what Karliah had said. There was a place where the Dominion had no hold. The Empire did not allow slaves and yet here he was. The privileged are above the law it seems.

Thrown into his cage he pulled the clean shirt off and tossed it to the side. There was no use for it in the arena, it would likely get him killed. The thought of freedom still burning in his mind as he sat in the corner, trying to get his head ready for the fight he was going to have.

“Is Do’amha alright?” Vajrasha asked. She could see that he was deep in thought about something. Brooding over whatever had happened while he was away.

“I am not harmed,” he responded. “Just another upper class lady seeking pleasurable company.” That is what everyone on the outside of that room knew and that was what he was going to let them believe. _Why would a Dunmer risk coming back here just for that?_ He couldn’t figure it out. Survival was about avoiding danger, not throwing yourself into it.

Of course, that was a complete contradiction to what his life had been for the last five years. Already, he could hear the sounds of people filling the stands. Everyone excited and ready to watch his fight with the latest opponent.

“Slave!” a guard said striking the bars. “Time for you to earn your keep.”

The cage door was opened once again and Do’amha headed out. Passing iron cages, holding other slaves for the arena, he made the short walk to the Arena entrance. Sand caked the walk way mixed with blood and sweat from far too many slaves.

From the whisperings, he gathered that this was going to be a very difficult fight. _Probably fighting an Orc,_ he thought. _They are a hardy folk and they love to fight._ Orcs were not as common of slaves as the beast-folk, as he heard the knife-ears refer to him as, but they were not unheard of either.

He idly remembered facing off against an Orc a few years back. That Orc’s hide was thick and it nearly killed him getting the strangle hold that he needed to finish him. He thought he might actually die during that fight.

Walking into the arena he was greeted with a wave of cheers and applause as the announcer gave some long winded speech of him being undefeated in however many matches. Hundreds of individuals, many Altmer and Dunmer, surrounded the ring of seats that looked down on him from their lofty position around the sunken circle of the arena. Some were cheering for him while others were screaming for his death. It was easy to tell who had wagered coin were if it were for the chaotic mess of voices that surrounded him.

Across the way was a portioned section where his master sat with his newest personal slave. He always managed to have a new one kneeling beside his throne-like chair every few weeks. “Gods, how I hate that man,” he growled to himself.

As the arena gate closed behind him, he was confused by what was sitting in the middle of the open space. Jutting out from the sands was the handle of an iron dagger. Do’amha had never been given a weapon before and the sudden change was enough to make him wary of whom he was going against.

The gate across from him slowly began to open and a terrible roar rolled out of the shadows within. A huge beast, at least a full head taller than him, came charging out on all fours before slamming its massive arms on the ground and giving our a bellowing roar. Thick hair covered every inch of the beast’s body and its three eyes were staring at Do’amha with a hungry gaze.

Do’amha was in completely shock. For the first time in years he actually felt fear clutching at his chest as he stared down the brute. “It is a damn troll,” he whispered. He looked to where Omeloren was seated and was met with a smug expression. _This is it. He’s going to kill you,_ a voice in the back of his mind commented.

With a growl he peeled his lips back in a vicious snarl, “Not without a fight he isn’t,” Do’amha hissed. Turning back to the beast, Do’amha sprinted for the dagger. That piece of dull iron was his only chance of survival.

As Do’amha slid to a stop, snatching the dagger from the sand, he was immediately met with the hairy features of the troll towering over him. He narrowly avoided the heavy arms that came crashing down in an explosion of sand. His once clean fur was now dusty and lost its sheen from rolling about on the ground. Scrambling back, Do’amha held the dagger up as if the small hunk of iron would intimidate the creature.

In the five years that he had been fighting in the arena, Do’amha had never used a weapon, but with the blunting of his claws he was pretty well defenceless against the brutality of this creature. It charged again, forcing Do’amha onto the retreat. Kicking off the wall, he managed to vault over the troll to safety and leading it to barrel straight into the stone wall.

The crowd gave out a cheer as Do’amha seemed to have the upper hand. _If I can get it to do that enough times then it will just beat itself to death,_ he thought. A small grin spread over his features as the brute turned around. A large gash ran over its forehead, above its third eye, running a steady stream of blood down the creature’s face. But as Do’amha waited for the next charge he was shocked to see the wound slowly begin closing up. After a few moments, the only sign that there had ever been a wound at all was the small crimson line that had slipped out before the fissure had closed.

The troll let out another thundering bellow and charged. Do’amha took off for the other side of the arena and kicked off the wall again, but the beast was learning. Midway through the vault, the troll threw up one of its trunk like arms and flung him into the nearby wall. He was sure that a few ribs were cracked if not broken from the blow. Staggering to his feet he was forced to leap away once again to keep from being crushed.

 _This is impossible. I can’t out run it forever and I can’t kill it if it will just heal._ He thought as his grip on the dagger tightened. _If I can blind it maybe I’ll stand a chance_. Without waiting to think of other possibilities he rushed forward and slid beneath the creature, right between its short legs. With a mad scramble he clawed his way up the troll’s back as it thrashed about trying to dislodge him. One hand tangled in its dark mane he stabbed at the eyes that glared up at him. The first plunge took out the eye set in the middle of its forehead.

That’s when the first hit came, rocking Do’amha on the creature’s shoulders. Spots of black clouded his vision and a crack sounded from his jaw. He shook his head trying to clear the spots in his vision, but that only made him even dizzier.  The second plunge stabbed next to the eye he was aiming for and he dragged it across both of the enraged orbs.

The troll grabbed hold of Do’amha’s arm and pulled him down, tearing out a handful of greasy hair with him. It flung Do’amha about like a rag doll, slamming his body against the ground and then the walls before throwing him across the arena.

Stumbling to his feet, Do’amha's left arm hung lifelessly at his side. _I cannot believe it was not ripped off,_  he thought in amazement. His shoulder hurt with a throbbing pain, but as much as he willed it he couldn't make it move.  His left eye had swollen shut and a stream of blood was dribbling out of his mouth. He tried to grip the dagger once more to finish this fight, but his hand gripped nothing but air.

“Where is the dagger?!” he cried in a panic. He was sure that the crowd was trying to answer his question but in the roar of cheering he couldn’t understand them.

Then he saw it.

The blood covered metal was lying at the feet of the troll that was thrashing about to try and find its prey. Getting the dagger would mean getting within the beast’s range of attack, but who knew how long he had before the troll regenerated its eyes?

He spat out a curse as he rushed for the dagger, sliding toward it on his knees. Looking up, he saw that one of the eyes has regenerated and was staring down at him with a murderous intent.

It was over. There was no way that he could blind the creature again with only one arm. He was going to die in this arena. Then a sudden pendulous motion between the troll’s legs caught his eyes.

With an evil grin, he drove the dagger straight up into the apex of the troll’s thighs and tore straight out, completely removing the organ making the once male beast an ugly female. A mixture of a howl, a scream, and a yelp tore from the troll’s throat.

Dropping to his knees the creature held its bloody loins as Do’amha got to his feet. With a growl, he shoved the dagger into the roof of the bellowing beast’s mouth and kept driving forward until the small guard pressed flat against the roof of the troll’s maw. Leaving the dagger in place, he figured that it couldn’t heal if the dagger never came back out.

The troll crumpled to the ground and the crowd waited in an eerie silence, everyone waiting to see if the troll would once again get back on its feet. A slow clapping began from the owner’s section. Omeloren was beginning to applaud Do’amha’s victory and it spread like wildfire. The entire arena was in an uproar of cheering.

Do’amha didn’t care. He immediately began stumbling back to the slowly opening arena gate. He needed to get into his cage and rest. As he stumbled into the pits he was greeted with the same cheers of approval from the slaves that he got from the spectators. He had never seen the fighter pits so lively. A few of the slaves would reach out and touch his stripped fur, as if just that small brushing touch would be enough to impart some piece of his strength.

He collapsed into his cage. Pain did not begin to describe the state that he was in. Agony was a better word for it. He slowly managed to roll to his back, eyes closed, and trying to breathe passed the pain in his chest. _Definitely broken ribs,_ he thought.

Hands were pressed to his chest and shoulder and the warm feeling of healing began to spread throughout his body. The sudden crack of his shoulder being put back into place by magik made him wince, but the pain in his side ebbed away. “Thanks sister,” he muttered.

“I’m not your sister,” said a rather curdled voice. Do’amha’s eyes snapped open to see and Argonian woman looking down at him. Her scales a dark green with purple hued blush on her cheek bones. Scrambling to a seated position his eyes darted about the cage.

“Where is Vajrasha?” he demanded.

“I don’t know who you are talking about. There was no one here when I was placed in this cage.”

“Hey slave,” a familiar voice barked. It was the guards from last night and each of them was wearing a snide grin on their faces. “You’ll want to see this.” The cage opened with a shrill screech as Do’amha stepped out. The pair led him to the side entrance and pulled the eye slot open for him to look out.

What he saw made his heart drop into his feet.

There stood Vajrasha in the center of the arena. Standing in a ring around her were ten other slaves. A few were Argonian, but most of them were Khajiit. They never put females into the arena. It didn’t matter the reason. He could see that Vajrasha was trembling in fear but trying to put on a brave face.

 _What in Oblivion is going on?!_ he thought.

In the owner’s box he could see Omeloren stand up and approach the ledge.

“I thought that I would put together a small celebration for my victory today,” Omeloren began. “My slave has once again proven that he is the most dangerous fighter of the arena. Now I could just take my winnings and have all of you kicked off my land.”

A small chuckle swept through the crowd.

“But I thought that this might be a better parting gift. Slaves! This is not your usual match. This will not be a fight to the death.”

Do’amha released a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t going to be killed.

“I give you this female to enjoy to your heart’s content. Do not harm her or each other. There is plenty of time for all of you to have your turn.”

Do’amha stared in horror as the ring of slaves rushed onto Vajrasha like a pack of wolves. She screamed as they dragged her down to the ground and began tearing her clothes from her. More and more of her black furred body was revealed with every passing second. Pinned down by the other slaves, two Khajiits began to maul and suckle at her breasts as an Argonian shoved his reptilian muzzle between her legs.

Vajrasha let out a scream as she was forced to endure this torment, causing Do’amha to claw his blunt talons into the wood of the door.

“This is for your disrespectful behaviour, slave,” one guard sneered into his ear.

The pair of them began laughing and didn’t pay attention as Do’amha was seeing red. His elbow lashed viciously back into the nose of one guard before he grabbed the other by his helmet and began slamming it against the stone wall repeatedly. When the guard crumpled to the ground, he felt a metal rod strike him in the back, but he didn’t care. He gave out a roar as he grabbed the broken nosed guard and sank his fangs into his throat, tearing it free in a spray of crimson.

Face painted with the guard’s blood he quick grabbed the key and unlocked the side door. The slaves around Vajrasha were already removing their trousers and watching as they waited for their turn. With the dropped rod in hand, Do’amha rushed out into the arena with an enraged roar.

Three of the slaves were beaten back before they could realize what was going on. Another three were quickly tackling him and beating him down. A few mentioned how they weren’t going to let him take this from them. Others said that he had been in favour for far too long as the kicked and beat him until he couldn’t move.

Do’amha could hear Vajrasha crying out for him as the slaves circled around her again. She kept begging for him to save her as he watched them violate her. He watched as her screams were muffled with her muzzle shoved between another slave’s legs.

He blacked out for a time, but he always willed himself back to consciousness. Each time he awoke, those using her body were changed and forced into a new degrading position. Her dark coat being caked with the fluids of those that had been using her. No part of her was spared from their ravaging, sometimes forced to please three or more of the rapists at a time.

He could still hear her crying out for him through all of it, even when her muzzle was being violated by some slave. Tears stained her black coat, mingling with the streaks of seed on her face.

Do'amha didn’t know how long it went on for, but the light had ebbed away to a dull glow. He could only lay there and watch as they had used Vajrasha again and again. All the while he could hear her muffled cries for him to save her.  Deep down, he could only blame himself for the pain that she was being put through. _I’m sorry, sister,_ was the last thing he thought before he passed out.  Her tormented cries echoing in the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was roused from unconsciousness with a bucket of water it was dark out. He sputtered and coughed as he groggily looked around. His vision blurry from the beating that he had taken, his body still racked with pain. His eyes finally focused on Omeloren’s smiling face. He made a weak lunge but the hands that held him kept him back with little effort.

“It seems that you have forgotten your lessons, slave,” Omeloren chided, his tone like that of a disappointed parent. “You killed one of my guards, beat another into unconsciousness, and interrupted my celebration event. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I had intended on offering you a more comfortable living arrangements, even privileges to travel outside. But if this is how you are going to act, then I see no choice but to remind you who is in charge here.” Omeloren stepped aside and revealed something that made Do’amha stiffen.

It was The Box - an obsidian container that was humming with magical energies. He weakly fought against the guards that were slowly pushing him toward it. There horrors inside were enough to drive him to the point of breaking.

“Please…please do not do this!” Do’amha begged, bracing himself against the container to try and stop the inevitable. “Master Omeloren, please! I am sorry!”

“I have been far too lenient on you. You’re in need of a reminder of whom it is you are subservient to.” Do’amha’s arms were force back and he was shoved inside of The Box.

On the inside there was a small ledge, only big enough for Do’amha to stand on the balls of his feet and just enough space for him to crouch down in a huddled position. As the door was slammed closed he stumbled a little on the ledge and his tail rose to try and keep balanced.

As his tail touched the wall of The Box a burning pain was shot through his body and he grabbed his tail to keep it from happening again. Every side, even the floor, would cause searing pain at the slightest touch.  His hands wrung around the stripped fur as he felt panic filling his chest. He was once again in the most terrifying place he could imagine. The pitch black and promise of pain in The Box brought more fear in him than fighting the troll.

A slot slid open on the door and he could see Omeloren’s eyes peering in at him. Those eyes had a sadistic joy in them as they watched Do’amha’s panicked expression. “The only reason your head is not on display is because you won me a great deal of gold. Thirty times your weight in gold, in fact. You best remember this kindness when I see you again in a week.”

The slot slid closed and Do’amha made a plea as he jumped for it. The burning pain ran through his arms as he touched the dark material, like his blood was boiling from the inside and red hot pokers were gouging his flesh. His legs were already cramping up from the uncomfortable hunched position he was forced to take. He gripped his tail once again, like a sort of security blanket that he continued to wring again and again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do’amha wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had cried for the first couple days in The Box. Even now he kept sniffling and wiping away the tears that rolled down his orange and black fur. His feelings of fear and panic had long since been replaced with rage. His fur bristled at the thought of when they let him out of here and he could rip out Omeloren’s throat with his own fangs.

A full week in The Box was even more torture than most solitary confinements. Not only was he unable to move his crouched position. He wasn’t able to sleep. Sleeping meant not constantly paying attention to being perfectly perched on the ledge. If he fell asleep he would fall to one side or the other and immediately be awoken by the searing pain that filled his body.

Eating was practically impossible. He wasn’t given a tray, bowl, or any means of containing the food. It was just shoved through the slot and if his hands weren’t there to catch it then it fell onto the floor of The Box. Once that happened, picking it up was as painful as touching the floor itself.

With the slide closed there wasn’t a crack of light anywhere. Do’amha could only imagine that this is what The Void must be like, just darkness and silence. He couldn’t tell how long he had been in the box. They never brought him food in a regular fashion. There were a couple times that he was given food and then a few minutes later fed again and had to scramble to keep from dropping the meal.

The entire crowded space reeked of urine and filth. Without having a place to relieve himself, he was forced to just do his business where he crouched. He couldn’t describe the stench that soaked into coat and drowned his nostrils. What made it worse was that when he slipped on the ledge his feet would step into the sewage beneath him and, lacking a means of cleaning himself, he was forced to let it dry into the fur on his feet and between his toes.

The slot suddenly slid open, making Do’amha jump and lose his purchase on the small ledge. He let out a string of curses as he fell to the side and then the other as he tried to right himself. Finally getting back on the ledge, his left arm now covered in the filth, he realized just how stiff and cramped his legs really were.

Looking at the slot he saw nothing at first, just the stones of the far wall that he faced. Then there were a pair of amethyst eyes peering in at him. “Do’amha?” she asked.

“You!” he said in a whisper. _What did she say her name was? Carmen or something?_

“Karliah,” she whispered back. “I saw what happened. I’m so sorry. I tried to do something from the side-lines but they wouldn’t listen.”

He could hear the sound of metal scraping on the obsidian door.

“I was completely amazed how you dealt with that troll. A little brutal for my tastes, but effective none the less. And that guard you killed. Ripped out his throat with your teeth. You fight like a hell cat. Damn! I’m sorry. I can’t pick this lock. It’s reinforced with magik.”

Do’amha nodded. His jaw set as his mind raced with what was going to happen next.

“I want to help you. Tell me how,” she said as she gazed into the defeated eyes shining in the darkness.

He set his eyes onto her amethyst ones and spoke in a very dark voice.

"Is that offer of escape still on the table?”

“Of course it is. It’ll be even easier now with the lax in security,” Karliah sneered.

“With Vajrasha?”

“I can arrange something else for her. I can get a few of my associates to convince Omeloren to sell her. But we won’t be able to pull it off with you in there. We’re going to have to wait until you get released.”

Do’amha nodded. A few more days in The Box seemed like a small price to pay for a chance at freedom.

His eyes set on Karliah’s. A fire of determination burned away the defeated glaze that had once shrouded his eyes.

“Alright…let's do it.”


	3. WildFire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do'amha is ready to make his daring escape. But things don't go exactly to plan. With a little improvisation and a hell of a lot of luck he might just make it out of this alive.

Karliah’s secret visit was the only real interaction Do’amha had for the next few days. A section of his tail, the size of two hand’s width, was practically rubbed bald and raw near the tip of his tail. The pain was the only thing that ensured him that he was still alive and not lost within The Void.  
Just when he thought that he might go mad if he stayed in The Box a moment longer, the door suddenly opened. Do’amha had to blink a few times as the torch light blinded him. He was half-dragged and half-collapsed out of The Box, thankful that he was no longer confined in such a small and dark place.  
“I take it that you have learned your lesson?” Omeloren sneered as he watched his slave tumble out of the torture device.  
Do’amha wanted to strangle the life out of the Altmer, feel the life drain from between his paws, but he couldn’t. Half rotten food, sleep deprived, and nearly choking to death on the stench, he simply couldn’t muster enough energy to do more than hold himself up on hands and knees.  
“Y...Yes…Master…Omeloren,” he finally said between ragged gasps.  
“You have missed several fights due to your punishment, slave. However, you do have a chance to earn some of that lost coin back. We have a guest looking over the slaves in the pits today. If you behave yourself, this could be quite beneficial for all of us,” Omeloren chuckled. “Get him cleaned up. A good rinse should be enough to get that filth off of him.”  
The guards chuckled as they dragged the nearly unconscious Do’amha to a nearby wall. Dropping him against it, one reached out with his magik and gathered a large collection of water in a floating orb. "How did you do that?" one asked the other.  
"I've been practicing my alteration magik," the other replied.  
"That's pretty good!"  
"You think that was good, wait till you see this."  
The guard threw his hand forward toward Do'amha and a jet of water followed in direction. The freezing water crashed into Do'amha's weakened body, the sudden wave rushing into his face made him sputter and cough as he tried to get air. The torrent of water pressed him against the stones and fought against his hands that tried to cover his head. It took everything he had to roll over so that the stinging water was hammering against his back instead of his chest and face. The once clear water ran murky after it struck his soiled fur and clothing, creating a brown puddle around him.  
Shivering and trying to curl up for warmth, Do’amha’s wrapped his arms around his torso tightly. He was dragged up the scruff of his neck and through the halls, still soaked and shivering. Murmurs rippled through the slave pits as he was dragged in. Many of them surprised that he was still alive.  
The guards dropped Do’amha unceremoniously on the ground in his cell. The one that had sprayed him down kicked him over.  
“What’s that for?” the other guard asked as the first produced a vial of green liquid.  
“The boss wants him to be lively when the customer comes through. Told me to give him this. Help me hold him down.”  
The other guard pinned Do’amha’s shoulder to the floor with his knee like the first was doing. The first grabbed hold of Do'amha's jaw and forced him to open before shoving the neck of the vial into his mouth and let the potion start glugging into Do’amha’s mouth.  
He nearly drowned as the potion started to go down the wrong pipe. He sputtered, coughing up some of the potion onto the guards as they fought to hold him still. The potion itself tasted awful, like dust, old fish, and burned meat, which only made his gagging worse. Seeing it as resisting, the second guard pinched Do’amha’s nose closed effectively cutting off his airway. Do’amha thrashed as much as his weakened body would let him as he gagged down the concoction until the vial was left empty.  
The two guards laughed as the released Do’amha letting him roll over onto his side and began coughing up what had gone down his wind pipe. They quickly locked the door as the potion began to take effect, quickly bringing some strength back to his tired body. He still felt like he had been dragged by a horse, an experience he actually knew about, but he seemed to have a second wind. It wasn't the first time that he was given one of those green potions, though previous occasions had been after he had pleased some paying customer and had to head into the right after. Couldn't be tired when you were fighting for your life.  
Still panting, it took almost no time at all for him to have enough energy to get to stand on his own two feet. His legs still shook and his body was still in pain, but he was able to make it to hold himself up. Perfect timing it seemed, since the door at the far end of the pits opened and in strode Omeloren and his special guest.  
The man that came through the door with Omeloren had darkened skin, even darker than that of the Dunmer. Do’amha had heard a few of the guards call them Redguards, though that meant little to him. He was dressed in elegant clothes, similar to those worn by Omeloren, and walked with his hands clasped behind his back.Omeloren would babble on about his training methods and the use of punishment and reward to keep the slaves in line.  
The Redguard paused outside of Do’amha’s cage with an intrigued expression.  
“Ah yes,” Omeloren smiled. “My best slave of them all. He is truly one of a kind, even for a Khajiit.”  
“This is the one that I saw fight the troll a week ago isn’t it?” the Redguard asked.  
“Yes it is. He is a proverbial golden goose as it were.”  
“What’s his name?”  
“I believe the slaves call him Do’amha. A rather brutish name if I ever heard one.”  
“You there, slave,” the Redguard called to Do’amha. Turning to the Redguard, he was motioned closer. “Let me get a look at you.”  
“I don’t think that is wise, Limion,” Omeloren said as Do’amha began to stalk closer to the Redguard. Maybe he could use him as leverage to get out of this cage. Just a few more steps and he would have the dark skinned man in his claws.  
“Even after seeing what happened in the arena, I doubt that he is as much of a hell cat in here.” Do’amha nearly froze in place. When he was called a ‘hell cat’ the Redguard turned to him with a knowing gaze. Do’amha’s head tilted, ever so slightly, in confusion as he slowly understood what it meant.  
When he reached the bars of the cage, he gently set his clawed hands on the bars, making no move to harm the Redguard.  
“Show me your teeth, slave.” Do’amha slowly opened his maw, revealing the yellowed row of fangs within. “I can see how he ripped the throat of that guard. Very dangerous. You blunt their claws, why not their teeth?”  
“Do you want to stick your fingers in there to dull them? With these animals, you are likely to come up one short.”  
Do’amha closed his mouth as the Redguard began turning his head this way and that to look at his jawline and fur pattern. “He has a good coat,” Limion mentioned. “Put your hands out of the cage.”  
Do’amha complied without complaint, pressing his shoulders against the bars as his arms were inspected. Limion began to test his muscle, squeezing them from his shoulder down his arms.  
“You feed him well I see.”  
“If you don’t keep your best in good shape then he won’t stay the best,” Omeloren replied.  
“If I had my pick of the litter,” Limion said as he began looking over Do’amha’s wrapped hands. “I would choose this one as the stud for my stock. For the right price of course.”  
Omeloren was too distracted with the talk of coin, that he didn’t see when Limion slipped something into Do’amha’s wraps. Do’amha didn’t even see it, but he felt the object press against his skin beneath the cloth.  
“Well, I'm sure that we can set a time for my men to bring him to your plantation for breeding. I don't like having my merchandise out over night. I'm sure you understand,” Omeloren sneered.  
“Would probably be best to start him off with that black furred one that you sold me earlier. He seemed to have a certain liking to that one.” Limion gave him a quick glance – a subtle signal – to cement the notion in Do’amha’s head. “Or maybe I’ll start her off with one of my own studs.”  
If he really is with Karliah, I have to play this up, Do’amha thought. He slammed against the cage doors with a dangerous growl as he swiped at Limion, who quickly ducked away. His eyes turned to Omeloren as he spat out, “You said she was mine!”  
“I own all of you, slave!” Omeloren snapped back. “If I choose to sell your little bed warmer, then that is my decision. Perhaps you need another lesson in The Box?”  
Do’amha flinched with a very real shudder of fear. “No…no Master Omeloren. No lesson is need.” He quickly retreated into the cage and sat in the corner, gripping his tail once again and began wringing it.  
Limion touched a small line of blood on his cheek before he began chuckling. “Damn cat scratched me,” he said.  
“Well I would normally have him punished, but I did warn you not to let him get so close.”  
“That you did. It was my mistake. I forget sometimes how these things are more animal than person.”  
“Would you like to end the tour?”  
“No. No. I’m quite alright. Let’s continue. I am still in need of a stud for my Scale Backs.”  
“Right this way,” Omeloren said leading them further into the slave pits.  
When he was sure that they were gone, Do’amha fished out the object that had been slipped into his wraps. A piece of parchment, folded a few times, now rested in his paws. He quickly unfolded it and a small silver key fell out onto his breeches. Picking it up, he stared at it for a long moment. This is…he thought before looking to the door of his cage. He had seen this key a thousand times to open that very door.  
Looking at the parchment he could see the rather elegant writing, written by someone that had spent some time with a tutor to create the fanciful lettering. It told him to wait for nightfall before heading to the north-most window in the arena.  
“Karliah,” he said barely above a whisper. He jumped as the sound of Omeloren’s voice was growing closer. He quickly stuffed the small parchment into his mouth and started chewing.The ink tasted like dirt and the parchment was sticking to the roof of his mouth before he managed to swallow it. He slipped the key back into his wraps as Omeloren came into view with Limion right behind him.  
The Redguard turned and looked directly at him before giving a very small nod and answering Omeloren’s question about his stock of slaves.  
Looks like things are underway, Do’amha thought with a grin.  
Judging from the rays of light that he could see, it was probably mid-morning. Many of the slaves were up and awake, doing their individual methods of building strength, while a few others were enjoying their female rewards. With Do’amha locked in The Box, a few other slaves managed to gain a little favour with Omeloren.  
I need to sleep, he thought. He nestled a little into the bed of hay and closed his eyes. Letting his weary body finally drift off to sleep, trying his best to ignore the sounds around him.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Do’amha awoke only once since he closed his eyes. The loud strike against his cage door made him jump into consciousness.  
“Your Master demands that you eat at least your evening meal. Can’t have you weak when you begin fighting again tomorrow,” the guard said holding out a tray of food.  
Do’amha nodded as he took the tray and began to tear into the meal ravenously.  
Too bad for the both of you that I will be long gone by the time morning comes, he thought with a secret grin. Fresh meat and bread was like a gift from the Divines. After a week of half rotten food, he thought that he might never stop eating the meal in front of him. But, within moments he had inhaled all of the food that had been on the tray and went back to his bedding to rest.  
He wasn’t as tired anymore, he could at least keep his eyes open, but his body was still exhausted. There were aches in all of his joints, even his tail ached. It would be days before those joints would feel better.  
Laying there, his eyes counting the stones above his head, he actually felt excitement. There was a chance for him to get away. To be free. After years of fighting in the arena he thought that excitement and adrenaline were things that he had become dulled to. But his heartbeat quickened as the pits became darker. The torches slowly being put out, casting the room in a dim glow from the splints of moonlight that pierced through from the arena.  
When the door finally closed, he waited a few moments. His ears flicked this way and that to catch any trace of the guards of any slaves that might still be awake.  
Only quiet snores met his ears.  
With the comforting darkness around him, he made his way to the cage door. Slipping the key from his wraps he carefully placed it into the lock and turned it, the soft grinding of gears turning came from the lock before the bolt retreated into the mechanism.  
Pushing the metal door open, Do’amha froze as the worst thing he could think of happened.  
The hinges of the cage door gave out a shrill squeal that echoed around the enclosed area.  
His heart hammering in his ears so loud he was sure that someone could hear it. For a long time he didn’t breath. But there was no yell. No cry of alarm. Only the gentle snoring of the sleeping slaves.  
He released a sigh of relief when he didn’t hear any stirring and gently eased the door open enough for him to slip out and ease the door back to its closed position.  
His padded feet made no noise as he carefully made his way to the arena entrance. It seemed that he might make it out with only that one issue. But his attention was pulled to a gasp from the cage beside him.  
An Argonian woman had spotted him.  
His eyes widened in fear as he saw her mouth opened to release a cry of alarm. His heart paused as time seemed to stop around him. He would be found out and beheaded, or worse thrown back into The Box. He stood there, waiting for the fateful scream to go out and his only chance of escape to fly away.  
But the Argonian woman never made a sound.  
As soon as she had sat up to call for the guards, the Argonian beside her gripped her throat tightly and stopped her cry before it could even utter a sound. He moved over top of her and bore all his weight onto her windpipe. She thrashed and swung at him as her eyes filled with horror. Only a grunt tore from his throat as he continued to add pressure until her struggling began to dwindle. Her hands stopped slapping and her scaled tail ceased its thrashing until she fell still, her eyes glassed over as she stared, lifelessly, at the ceiling.  
The Argonian slowly slid off of the woman’s corpse, still panting from the effort.  
“Why did you do that? Why help me?” Do’amha asked in a confused and hushed voice.  
“I didn’t. I did it to help me,” the Argonian sneered. “Once you escape, or are killed, I will become the favoured fighter. Now get out of here. Careful not to lose your head.”  
Do’amha nodded as he saw the Argonian’s point of view. He was taking advantage of Do’amha’s absence as a means of furthering his position within the pits. For Do’amha that didn’t warrant killing another slave, but it was already too late. With a sigh he tossed the key that he had been given to the Argonian. With a nod he hurried out into the arena, hearing a soft chuckle from behind him.  
Making a run to the Northern wall he kicked off of the cracked stone, where the troll’s head had smashed it, and gipped the edge of the stadium rim. His blunt claws scratching the smooth stone as he slowly pulled himself up with a great deal of effort. The muscles in his arms were burning from exhaustion, but his determination won out as he finally managed to throw his leg up and roll into the stands.  
No time to stop, he told himself as he hurried up the stairs two at a time. Running for the north-most window, he tried to spring up to the window ledge. The tips of his fingers could only barely brushing the bottom of sill.  
His blunt claws scrapping on the lower edge of the sill before he stopped. His legs were just about out of strength as he hunched over, his hands on his knees for air, and shaking from pure exhaustion. He struck the wall in frustration to be so close to freedom but still mere inches from his grasp.Those inches might as well me miles with his weary body.  
He was startled when a rope suddenly dropped down beside him. Looking up, he could see the hooded features of another Khajiit staring down at him with a wide grin on his feline features. He resembled a spotted leopard with light grey fur.  
“You better hurry up,” the Khajiit whispered. “This one will not wait forever for you.”  
Grabbing the rope, Do’amha’s ascension up the wall became a collaborative effort with him pulling his own weight up the rope while the smiling Khajiit pulled the rope until they were both crouched in the window.  
Do’amha had never seen outside the building before. The building itself was not that large, it looked more like a storehouse for grains. The roof dropped off steeply on both sides, save for the point that gave a small path to rush across.  
“Are you with Karliah?” Do’amha asked quietly.  
“No,” the Khajiit answered with quick sarcasm. “Ri’shaad is a traveling merchant interested in selling his wares in the middle of the night. Have you need of a bear skin rug?”  
Do’amha’s glared at the snickering Khajitt as if his sarcastic comment was the funniest joke in all Tamriel.  
“Ri’shaad can tell that while you may live, your sense of humour died long ago. Here. You might need this. Scroll of fireball. If things go bad then use it. Careful not to singe your tail.”  
“Enough with the jokes. What is the plan?”  
“We follow the rooftop. Ri’shaad has horses waiting and we will ride off through the fields.”  
“Won’t we be seen?”  
“With as many break-ins this one has done. Ri’shaad has found that guards do not look above them. Just don’t fall and you will be fine.”  
Do’amha rolled his eyes as Ri’shaad gave out another snicker before dashing off along the roof. The Khajiit’s padded feet ran the narrow edge with practiced precision.  
Do’amha had to stop every few feet to throw his arms about to keep from falling.  
Climbing down the rope to the roof, the pair quickly got up into the saddles of the horses. As Do’amha was about to send the beast charging forward, though he really didn’t know how he was going to do that, he felt Ri’shaad grab his arm.  
“You need to wait. If we go too soon we will be spotted and shot down before we make it to the fields.”  
Do’amha nodded as he waited for Ri’shaad to give some sort of signal to move.  
For all his jokes, he seems to know what he is doing, Do’amha thought as he saw the Khajiit spur his horse into a gallop with a sharp kick to the equine’s sides.  
Do’amha followed the same action of kicking the horse’s flanks and quickly fumbled for a hold as the mount took off. Holding on desperately to the horn of the saddle, he was alarmed to hear a shout go out from the guards that saw the pair making their escape. Archers from a large building began firing ceaselessly into the air, raining down a storm of arrows.  
The bolts narrowly missing the pair and embed harmlessly in the earth as the entered the fields. Do’amha looked over his shoulder with a grin as it seemed that they were home free.  
But he suddenly found himself soaring through the air as the horse beneath him collapsed.  
One of the arrows had struck through its neck and threw Do’amha from its back. Ri’shaad fared little better as he was shot through the shoulder with one of the many arrows, his horse galloping off into the darkness.  
“That could have gone better,” Ri’shaad growled as he crawled over to use the fallen horse’s body as a barrier from the guards that were suddenly bearing down on them. “Your scroll. Use your scroll.”  
“What do I do with it?!” Do’amha hissed at him as he opened it seeing the foreign and somehow familiar runes written on the paper.  
“You read it! You know how to read do you not?!”  
Do’amha looked at him with a glowering glance. “I have been a slave all my life! What makes you think I can…”  
He paused as he looked at the runes once more. Something in the back of his mind suddenly seemed to recognize the symbols and began to feel magik collecting in his hands. The paper burned away and in its place was a small ball of flames, floating calmly.  
“Good! Now throw it! Take out the archers on the roof!”  
Do’amha turned to hurl the burning ball of magik, when he had a different idea. Instead of throwing the magik at the roof, he threw it against the ground at the beginning of the field. The flames quickly spread and started to consume the entire crop. He smiled as he saw the guards quickly run back.  
Then he felt the wind change and the fire began to surge toward them.  
“Are you insane?! That fire is coming right for us!” Ri’shaad cried before scrambling to his feet with Do’amha right behind him.  
“They won’t be able to see us with the smoke!” Do’amha countered as they tried to outrun the wall of fire. The roaring flames growled like a hungry, snarling beast chasing after them to devour all in its path. The flames leapt and danced about as the surged through the dry wheat for more to feed its unending hunger. The heat was almost unbearable. The wheat around them crackled and popped from the flames that cooked them completely. Flames licked at their feet and fur, trying to sample a bite of its quarry.  
The smoke that filled the air choked their lungs and stung their eyes, obscuring their vision of the end of the field. Blindly they ran on, hoping that they would find their way out into the safety of the forest beyond.  
When they finally came out of the field they hurried into the nearby forest before pausing to look back, coughing roughly to expel the smoke that had gotten trapped in their lungs. The devouring inferno burned quickly through the fields, spreading to any of the nearby ones as figures could be seen trying to put them out.  
“That was a risky move,” Ri’shaad said with the first serious tone that Do’amha had heard him use.  
“I cannot get that knife-ear back for all the pain he caused me. So I figured I would hurt him where he would feel it most…his coin purse,” Do’amha replied as they started trudging through the forest.  
“Shouldn’t we get that out?” Do’amha asked motioning to the arrow in Ri’shaad’s shoulder.  
“It is best to leave it in. Ri’shaad will have the healer take care of it when he returns to the guild.”  
When they came upon a swift flowing river Ri’shaad pointed downstream.  
“Karliah will meet you down that way on the opposite shore,” he said. “Ri’shaad will go upstream to throw off any trackers. Good luck.”  
“Thank you, Ri’shaad. I am in your debt.”  
“Karliah saved this one’s life once. This was to repay that debt. Do not go starting anymore fires until this one is far away. Ri’shaad would rather not have to outrun another one.”  
Do’amha chuckled before the wounded Khajiit began following the riverbank upstream. Do’amha turned to head the other direction, praying that he found Karliah in the dim forest before Omeloren’s men could regroup and follow after him.


End file.
